Can't live for Tomorrow
by Malachi de Medici
Summary: Story based on Cell, set in Louisville, KY, with an original cast. Hope you like it.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Stepehn King created the idea behind this story, so, all credit goes to him. **

_Authors note: I was gonna put out another chapter of my other story, Come Together, but, I was at work and I was thinking the same exact thing that the lead character in this story was thinking. I read Cell in September, and for some reason, tonight, I thought about what would happen if the Pulse really happened. I came home, sat down, and this is what happened. I hope you like it._

Can't live for Tomorrow

1

"God, I hate this fucking job."

What am I gonna do? It's not like I can just stay home. Not with three kids at home who don't understand that Wal-mart just doesn't give away Gameboys for free. Nor with a pregnant wife who is tired of living in a tiny, two bedroom apartment. Where the heat doesn't work all the time. And more and more of the wall in the bathroom falls down into the bathtub every time you take a shower. And, don't forget the stupid dog. If it isn't fed every so often, it will eventually start picking off the kid's one at a time.

"This job sucks ass."

Yeah, but it pays the fucking bills.

"Hey, Duane!"

John's annoying voice could be heard over the squeal of 14 drills. And a Smashing Pumpkins song at full blast on a damn good radio. And ear plugs.

"What?" I replied, as sarcastic as I could manage.

"What are you doing right now?"

"Uh, well, it looks like I am standing here waiting to hear what ever stupidity is about to come out your mouth."

"What? I can't here you over top of that radio!"

I walked over to the radio and hit pause.

"I said what?"

John looked like he didn't believe that, but, I think he could tell from the look on my face that I would be more than happy to repeat what I really said. I don't think that his ego could take it.

"I asked you what you are doing. I just got a call from Dave. We have to have all the Mitering for Tennessee done before 1st shift gets here, because, it has to be SRD'd before the truck has to roll at 8." John took a step back after he said this. He must have known what was coming.

I looked down at my wrist watch. 5:30. AM. First shift will be here in a half an hour.

"How many pieces?"

John took another step back.

"Twenty five."

"How long are they?"

Another step.

"Thirty foot"

"SON OF A BITCH!!! WHAT THE FUCK KINDA SHIT IS DAVE TRYIN TO PULL???"

John took two more steps backward. If I wasn't so pissed, I would have laughed because of the look on his face.

"Look, I don't like it myself, but, you know that they do this too us all the time. There is no reason to get upset about it." John looked like he needed to take his own advice, cause my tirade sure was making him upset.

"First, they make us work six days a week. Then, they put us on twelve hours shifts. Now, they are doing there best to bury us in fucking work. Who the fuck do they think we are? Superman? Fuck this shit. I am not doing it. Get Chris. Rick left me a note that I have to have all these pipes drilled for assembly. I only have three quarters of them done. I ain't gonna have Rick on my ass when he gets here because they aren't done. No way."

I stood there looking at John, knowing what is coming.

"Well, Dave said the mitering has to be done. The drills can wait."

John took a step forward, trying to assert himself.

"What about the note Rick left me?"

I took a step forward, glaring at him.

"N-n-n-now Duane, there is no need to get mad."

I could tell from the look on his face that he was trying to decide if he should run. I don't guess the three foot long pipe that I had propped on my shoulder was helping his confidence any.

"Who's mad? Why would I be mad? What would I have to be mad about? Hmmmmm…"

I took another step forward, bringing John within striking distance.

"Oh, wait, I know. I could be mad about the fact that you are trying to fuck me over."

"No, I'm –"

"-not trying to fuck me over?" I said, finishing his sentence.

"Yeah, I'm not trying to fuck you over"

I took another step, causing him to retreat two steps.

"You're not trying to fuck me over, huh? Well, it sure looks that way to me. You are going to pull me off the saw because you don't want to work with Chris. What's wrong, he spends all night on his cell phone?"

John opened and closed his mouth, unable to answer.

"Well, why don't you act like a fucking supervisor and tell him to put the fucking thing away? Or, even better, act like you got a fucking pair and call Dave back and tell him that he is shit out of luck if he thinks that we are gonna get those fuckin welded deck done before 8. Tell him that if he wants them done that bad, he better carry his ass in here and do them himself. Otherwise, I don't know what to tell him. Cause, I sure as shit ain't gonna do it. Rick is Dave's boss. Therefore, I do what Rick says. And, Rick told me to have as many pipes done as possible. I ain't Dave's bitch. And, I ain't your bitch. You don't like it, then, you can suck my dick. If Dave don't like it, get him on the phone and I will tell him the same thing."

I turned around and walked back to the radio, pushed play, and went back to the drills. I couldn't see all of John, but, I could see part of him out of the side of my eyes. He stood there for a few seconds. At one point, he took a half step forward, as if to re-assert his position. But, like I thought he would, he turned and walked off. I know that he will go to Dave when he gets here and Dave will go to Rick. Then, Rick will come to me and tell me that even though I was right, I should have put it a little more nicely to John. I should try to get along with John, I guess, but, I can't stand the spineless little cocksucker.

"God, I really hate this fucking job"

Yeah, but, what am I gonna do?

0000000

"Hey, Duane, what are you still doing here?"

I turned around and looked at Rick. He stood there smiling that stupid ass grin of his. He knew I was mad, and he thought that it was funny as hell.

The bad part of it was that he was right.

I looked down at my watch. 2:59 P.M.

"Fuck you Rick. You know what I am still doing here."

I turn back to the drill, hearing him snicker at me.

"What did you expect? John is a whiny little bitch, but, he is my sister's husband, so, I gotta stand up for him sometimes. You know as well as I do that he is a worthless little prick, but …."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know. Why don't you divorce your wife? I would if I was you. There is no way that I could put up with that son of a bitch living next door to me. Divorce her and move the fuck out."

Rick laughed.

"Shit, I wish I could divorce her, but, she would get half of my money. I ain't gonna give that bitch shit."

"Hey, you know why divorces cost so much?" I asked him.

"Why?" he said, that stupid grin never leaving his face.

"Cause they are worth it."

Rick snorted laughter.

"God you kill me. Anyways, Tim will be here in 10 minutes. You need to go home and get some sleep."

"But, Kyle just gave me these orders. I need to get them done."

"It's Friday. Go home and have a good weekend."

"Okay." I walked over to the table, took my apron off, tossed it under the table and walked towards the bathroom. As I walked, I pulled a cigarette from my shirt pocket and light it. Inhaling deeply, I opened the door to the men's room. As the door slowly closed, I turned and saw Rick walking back to his office. He was opening his phone, dialing. Probably calling that bitch of a wife of his. I looked down at my wrist watch. It was 3:03 P.M. I took another drag off my cigarette and the door closed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

LOADING INTERFACE …..

INTERFACE LOADED ….

SEARCHING FOR SATELLITE …..

SATELLITE FOUND, ESTABLISHING LINK …..

LINK ESTABLISHED, CHECKING FOR FILES …..

ONE FILE FOUND, DOWNLOAD? Y/N …..

/yes

RETRIEVING FILE, PLEASE WAIT

FILE DOWNLOADED, CLOSING LINK….

LINK CLOSED ….

/open file

PLEASE WAIT ….

PLEASE NOTE – DUE TO BANDWIDTH RESTRICTIONS, THIS MESSAGE HAS BEEN BROKEN INTO SMALLER DATA PIECES. YOU MAY RETRIEVE THE NEXT PIECE IN 12 HOURS. WE ARE SORRY FOR ANY INCONTINENCE THIS MAY CAUSE.

MESSAGE FROM: DELETED PER RGS REGULATION 3.12 

MESSAGE TO: 2982 CARRIE 

Dearest Carrie,

I hope there is enough bandwidth for you to get this message before reports of what happened to us reaches you through the grapevine. Hopefully, being the wife of a RGS captain will be enough to insure that you do. God knows that they sure don't pay enough to make it worth it.

Anyways, I just wanted to write you and let you know that I am okay. We lost 15 guys in the last fight in Ottawa. No, that's not the right way to say it. Colonel deleted wasted 15 guys on a suicide mission that had no value what so ever. I swear, that man will kill every last one of us if he gets half a chance.

It's not good enough for him that we are finally fighting back. No, not good enough by far. This motherfucker wants to make sure he has a great big body count to take back to the RGS council. I know that you tell me that I need to not let things get to me so much. Nevertheless, when you watch an entire platoon of men die like those men did, you cannot help but question the reason we are here. I mean, are we any better than the zombies are? They don't care if a single member dies. Hell, I have seen an entire town full of them climbing over one another to try to get to a FOP even though they had to cross a field full of land mines and covered from three different angles with 50 cal machine guns. The cross fire was deadly, but, they just kept coming; they kept dieing.

I am sorry; I know that you do not want to hear about that. I will try to keep the gore to a minimum.

Anyways, how are the kids? I miss you guys so much. I will be glad when we finish this mission and I can come home. I will tell you something that I never thought I would have admitted 10 years ago before the Pulse hit. I wish I could go back to that crappy job in that warehouse. You remember the one? The one that I hated? I could not stand that fucking place. God, if I knew then what I know now. Oh well, I guess we have to play the cards we have been dealt.

A couple of days ago, we came across a little town near the Canadian-US border. This town was completely untouched. We where walking down some little 2 lane blacktop road, trying to reach Buffalo before sundown. The Major called SH and everyone cleared the road and hid in the surrounding bushes. (SH is short for Stop and Hide. Not very imaginative, but, hey, what do you expect?) Only two people stayed in the middle of the road. One was the Major. The other was a forward scout. They stood there talking for a few minutes, then, the Major shooed the scout away. He looked back to the end of the column, back towards where my company was. Even though his eyes where hid by the brim of his booney hat, I could tell he was looking for me. (After what happened in Ottawa, the Major seemed to pick my company for the "interesting" assignments. And, that's not always a good thing.)

He signaled for my company to move up and we did. Carrie, I have to say, I am amazed at how far my company has come. When we where first formed, we could not even march in a straight line. Now, after 3 months in the field, my company is the best one in this whole army. You wouldn't think 45 men would be able to move without making at least some noise, but we moved up that road like cats stalking a mouse.

When we where with 10 feet of the Major, I signaled my company to stop. After making sure my men where spread out in a defensive position on each side of the road, I continued on. The Major watched me and my men's advance with a slight smile of approval. I stopped in from of the Major, slinging my rifle.

"Captain deleted , reporting sir," I said.

The Major didn't say anything to me at first. He looked back in the direction that the scout came from for a minute. Over the Majors left shoulder, I saw the Colonel and the other major standing near the back of the ISV (Infantry Support Vehicle). The ISV is a Command and Support Vehicle that the Colonel uses to keep in contact with the Council. It has a direct satellite uplink and is heavily armored and armed. The Colonel refused to use it in Ottawa. He said that it was too valuable to risk loosing. If he had just moved it forward, we could have saved some of them.

The Major noticed me looking at the Colonel and snorted a small laugh.

"If he had moved the ISV forward, it wouldn't have done any good. The Zombies mercs had us dead to rights. Their arty was too good. The had us zeroed in before we even got to the city limits. Once we entered, there could only be one outcome. They didn't want us to get to that cache, and, they would have destroyed the ISV if we moved it within range. You know this. It would be best if you just let it go," said the Major gently, as if he could read my mind.

The look on my face must have amused him, because the Major laughed loudly, startling the Colonel. The Colonel's head jerked towards us, and he scowled. The Major turned back to look at the Colonel for a second, and then turned back to me.

"Even though he was right about the ISV, he is still a prick," he said.

I had not, up to this point, had much of a chance to talk to the Major. From what I have heard, he isn't one for many words. Yet, for some reason, I felt myself drawn too him. Have you ever been around a person that you know is destined to change the world? Someone that has the personal strength to move mountains for his beliefs? That's what it is like being around the Major. In the staff meetings we have had, the Colonel is in charge, but you can tell that the Colonel looks to the Major for approval. The sad part is, I think the Colonel cannot help himself for feeling that way. More than that, I think the Colonel is ashamed of feeling this way, maybe even disgusted with himself. The rumor running around currently is that the Colonel messaged back to base asking to have the Major removed after Ottawa and he was refused.

I have noticed that when an order is handed down, even though it comes from the Colonel, almost every man subconsciously looks to the Major for some sign that he agrees with the order. That simple fact has brought the Colonel and the Major to many one sided shouting matches. (Usually with the Colonel doing the shouting and the Major standing there calmly, as if he is standing on a beach somewhere a million miles away.)

The Major sighed, pulled a cigarette from a pack in his pocket. He light it, inhaling deeply. He exhaled the smoke with a sound that was the most sorrowful sound that I have ever heard. I know that you could tell the mood of a person from just the sounds that they make, but, I have never heard a man sound so sad.

"Well, Captain, we seem to have a unique opportunity ahead of us," said the Major. "As you might or might not know, supplies at RGS are getting a little thin. This winter is a lot harder than the council thought it was gonna be."

"Yes sir."

"Good. And, you are also aware that part of our mission is to find supplies to help everyone back home to get through till spring."

"Yes sir."

"Forward scouts have reported that down this road about 5 miles," said the Major, pointing down the road, where it disappeared into an unseen valley, "is a town that from a distance looks to be in remarkable shape."

A town, I thought with mixed emotions. After what happened in Ottawa, I wasn't too keen on going into another town.

The Majors blue eyes watched me take in his announcement.

"I suppose you are wondering why I decided to share this information with you," he said.

"Well, sir, you are telling me this because you need a group of men to enter this town, recce it and report back to you without alerting any local populace to our presence."

"Yes Captain that is exactly what I had in mind. Any idea why I chose you?" he asked with a slight grin.

I stood a little straighter

"Because my men are the best that you have, SIr."

"The best?"

"Yes sir, the best. A mission like the one you described requires the best. So, when you need the best, get the best," I said with pride.

The Major nodded approval.

"I am glad to see that your moral is high."

I didn't say anything else. I know that my men are good, and, from the Majors reaction, so did he. I didn't think it would be a good idea to brag too much.

"What I need you to do is to take a small force of men, no more than 10 men, and scout out the town." The Major looked at the setting sun, then, back to me. "Wait till dusk, then, enter the town how ever you think is best. I want you to look around only. Do not try to collect any supplies. Try your very best to not be seen…."

The Major was interrupted by the Colonel

"…. And, under no circumstances are you to fire upon any civilians." The Colonel stood there looking at the Colonel, smirking.

"Yes Captain, we do not want any civilian casualties if we can at all help it," said the Major, looking at me.

"No civilian casualties at all," interjected the Colonel. "For any reason. If you are shot at, you evade and escape. You do not return fire. At all. Do you understand Captain?"

"Yes sir." I said, looking straight ahead.

The Colonel looked at me, then to the Major. "Carry on then," he said, then, walked away.

When the Colonel had walked away, he looked at me. I turned to him, wanting to object to the rules that had been placed on my men and me but I didn't want to give the Major the wrong idea. So, I just stood there. The Major continued to look at me for a minute. He then motioned to me to follow him to one of the HUMVEE's that held the supplies for our army. He looked around to see where the Colonel was, then, opened the back tailgate of the truck. He rummaged in the back for a few seconds, looking for something. When he found it, he pulled a large black box from the corner. He looked around one more time, then, opened the box. Inside the box, stacked side by side where 15 small, deadly looking compact SMG's

"Do you know what these are?"

"No sir."

"These are P90 sub machine guns. I am not going to go into the technical details, cause, you do not need them. You and your team will be outfitted with them when you hit that town. They can be equipped with a silencer, which, I would highly recommend. They have 50 round box magazines, fire 5.7mm shells and are best used at close ranges. Since you are not supposed to be seen, this should not be a problem. I will leave the fine details to you, but, I would recommend leaving 2 men outside of town to provide sniping support." The Major closed the lid of the box, pulled another box out of the back, and set it on top of the first one. "Here is the ammo. Send over some of your men to get these. Good luck Captain." He reached out his hand and I shook it.

"Thank you sir."

I turned to walk back to my men.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCALIMER: YOU KNOW HOW THIS WORKS. ALL CREDIT GOES TO STEPHEN KING. WITHOUT HIM, LIFE WOULD BE A BORING PLACE.**

CHAPTER 3

"God, there is nothing better than the first draw on a cigarette," I said to myself as I took another draw from my Kool. I inhaled deeply, savouring the slight high I got from the first cigarette in a few hours. "God damn politicians, why did they have to ban smoking in public places? If those fucking bleeding hearts want to make life so fucking safe, they should start by killing themselves! That would lower my blood pressure by at least 50 points."

I went to the last stall and closed the door. I pulled down my pants, turned and sat down.

As I flicked my ash on the floor, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Flicking the top open with practiced ease, I glanced at the clock. 3:14 pm. I hit the down button and called up the last calls made and received. Scrolling down and stopping on my wives cell number, I hit the call button and placed the phone to my ear.

"BEEP," said my phone. I looked at the screen and saw that I had no signal.

"More bars in more places my ass," I said in disgust. I took another draw of my cigarette and sighed. "$180 dollars a month and I cant make a fucking call when I'm sitting on the shitter. This is seriously fucked up. Can you hear me now? Fuck you and your fucked up company."

I hit the end button and opened the menu screen. Scrolling down, I pulled up my saved photos. I was greeted with thumbnail after thumbnail of high quality porn. Small size, but, still high quality.

"On the other had, unlimited internet in the palm of my hand is pretty cool."

Before I could open up the first picture, I noticed that I had gotten signal again. I closed the folder I was in and opened the internet. As I waited for the browser to load, I pulled out my MP3 player, turned it on and cranked the volume to 20. After a few seconds delay, Tom Petty began singing about not backing down.

"….You can stand me up at the gates of hell, but, I won't back down," I sang, way off key. After a few more verses, the browser finally loaded and I opened my bookmarks. I loaded up a World of Warcraft site and started reading the latest whines.

Being so engrossed in my reading, I lost track of time. I think it must have been 10 minutes, because I finished one cigarette and lit another. I didn't hear the door open, but, I was made aware that someone else was in the bathroom by the door slamming the last few inches shut and causing an overpressure in the bathroom for a second.

I hastily stopped my MP3 and put out my cigarette, fearing that whoever had entered the bathroom would rat to Steve. Steve was Rick's boss and he was an extreme anti-smoking Nazi. I fanned the air, trying to hide the evidence of my guilt. After clearing the air in my stall, I leaned over and looked under the wall of the stall and I saw someone's feet standing near the door.

Whoever was in the bathroom with me had not moved from near the door. I thought that maybe they smelled my cigarette and was trying to decide if they should go tell the supervisor.

I held my breath, waiting for whoever it was to say something.

After what seemed like forever, I sat back up. I let out my breath, which I had been holding in all this time, in a loud whoosh. I heard the person in here with me say "GRAKK!"

The sound of running feet was loud in the quiet bathroom, but, not as loud as whoever it was slamming into the door to my stall.

"Hey, there's somebody in here!" I yelled, startled by the sudden crash.

CRASH!!! Whoever it was outside the door hit it again.

"KRALL TICKY TAKK!!" says the person at the door, crashing into it again.

"Hey motherfucker, stop hitting the fucking door! There is another shitter open!"

I was in the process of getting up when the door lock gave way. As the door was flung open, narrowly missing my knees, I saw that it was Chris. For a brief second, time stood still. He seemed surprised by the door opening so unexpectedly and was trying to catch his balance. He looked at me with eyes filled with hatred, as if he would like nothing better than to rip off my head and shit down my neck. Time stared again and he crashed into me.

Sitting on the shitter, I was at an extreme disadvantage. The only thing that was helping me was that Chris had yet to gain is equilibrium back. Once he got his bearings, he would defiantly have the upper hand. Chris grabbed my neck as he fell on me, and, as he regained his senses, he started to choke me. I tried to push him off of me, but, I had no leverage.

"Let ….. g-g-g-g-go …….." I stuttered. I pushed against his face with one hand while groping blindly around me with the other. I reached over my shoulder and tried to grab the toilet tank lid, but, couldn't get a good grip on it. I got two fingers under it, but only managed to lift it up and tip it off the side of the tank. The crash that it made when it hit the floor was deafening. Chris was making a low growling sound deep in the back of his throat. My vision started to go black as my brain started to run out of oxygen. Chris finally got his balance back and was able to really get serious about the job at hand. Namely, strangling my half naked ass. As my situation grew from bad to worse, my hand came across a stick. Thank-full for any weapon, I grabbed it. As I lifted it up, I could see out of the corner of my eye that I had picked up a toilet plunger. With all the strength I could manage, given the small space I was in, and my rapidly fading consciousness, I hit him over the head with it.

The plunger didn't hit with much force, but, it was enough to surprise him. He loosened his grip enough for me to take a breath. Oxygen flooded into my bloodstream, clearing my head and making my surroundings snap into focus with an almost supernatural clarity. I gripped the handle of the plunger tighter and swung it with all my strength. It made a satisfying crunch and Chris let go of me. This encouraged me to take another swing, this one with even more force.

As the third swing hit, Chris took a step back. I stood up, my pants till around my ankles. The plunger that I had picked up had a clear acrylic handle and a heavy rubber cup on the end. As Chris stepped back out of the stall he tripped over his own feet and stumbled back against the round wash basin in the center of the bathroom.

I scuffled forward, my movements hampered by the pants around my ankles and swung again at Chris's head. This time, standing up and free of the bathroom stall, I was able to put some force into my swing. I swung over my head and down, catching him on the top of the head, splitting him wide open, spraying blood all over the place and cracking the handle of the plunger. He made a loud "Whump" and collapsed against the washbasin without any further excitement. His hand lifted a little bit as if he was still trying to finish the job of strangling me, so, I hit him again, this time with a two handed grip; like the grip you would use on an axe to chop wood. The rubber cup on the plunger broke completely off and bounced across the room, coming to rest under the sink. I was splattered with more blood. Chris slumped over, cracking his forehead against the tile floor.

I stood over him panting, still holding the handle in the air. I looked around the bathroom to see if anyone else wanted a piece of me. After a few seconds, I realized that I was standing there with my dick hanging out holding a bloody toilet plunger handle. The situation that I was in finally hit me and I dropped the remains of the plunger.

"Oh shit! I am so boned!" I said.

I shuffled over to the door with my pants down, in too much shock over what had happened to pull them up. I opened the door a crack and peeked out to see if anyone was coming. The loading area was a ghost town. I closed the door and turned back to the slumped body in the middle of the bathroom.

"I am so fucking boned!" I repeated.

I am not sure how long I stood there. It could have been a few seconds or a few hours. When I finally realized that I was still standing there with my pant around my ankles, I flew into action. I glanced at my watch. 3: 21 P.M. I tried to pull up my pants too quick and I got my nuts caught in my zipper. "FUCK!" I screamed.

Slowly, I zipped down and checked out my boys. "God, can this day get any fucking worse?" Taking the time to pull up my underwear first, I zipped up with exaggerated slowness. Looking up, I realized where I was again and what had just happened.

I ran over to Chris, almost slipping and falling in a pool of his blood. Kneeling down, I placed a finger against his neck, feeling for a pulse. My hands where shaking so bad that it was impossible to find one. After a few agonizing seconds, I finally felt a faint pulse. It was light but still regular.

"Oh, thank fucking god!" I exclaimed. "If you had died, I would have been seriously fucking boned!"

I sat back on my ass, my body starting to shake from the adrenaline.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I asked Chris's unconscious body after a few seconds. "You forget to take your medication? How the fuck are you going to just attack a motherfucker like that? Ain't you had any fucking home training? I was sitting on the shitter for fuck sake!"

I pulled another cigarette out of my pack and lit it. Considering the bloody body on the floor and the fact that I put it there, I figured that breaking the no smoking policy would be the least of my problems.

After I had time to collect my thoughts, I stood up. Noticing my phone on the floor, I stooped over and picked it up. I found my MP3 player in the stall, crushed. I must have stepped on it when I got up. _Great, that was a gift from Amy_ I thought, wondering how she was going to take this. Amy is a good woman and a great wife, but, I don't think that she was gonna be very impressed with this.

Walking back to the door, I took one last look over my shoulder at Chris. I opened the door and stepped out into the loading area. I pulled the yellow "Do not enter" sign that the janitor uses when he cleans the bathroom from its place near the door and put it in front of the door. I didn't want anyone to enter the bathroom until the police could get there. I watch CSI. I don't want anyone to fuck anything up in there and cause the police to miss something.

As I walked to the front office, lost in my own mind, I went over what had happened.

"Okay," I told myself. "I'm okay I think. I mean, I'm sure there are marks on my neck, so, it is obvious that he choked me." I put my hands up to my neck and winced at the sore spot that was there. Probably gonna get a bruise. "The door is broke and the toilet lid is broke, so, there is an obvious sign of a struggle. How many times did I hit him? I think I hit him 3 times. Or, was it 4? Maybe it was 5. I don't remember. I guess I will tell them I hit him 4 or 5 times just to be safe. The only one I'm worried about is that last one. He was sitting up, but, I don't know ……" Trailing off, I began to notice my surroundings for the first time.

The loading area was a disaster area. Someone had driven a forklift into a pile of 4 foot aluminium tubes, scattering them all over the place. There was paper blowing all over the place from the print station next to the open loading door.

I walked over to the forklift. As I got near, I saw someone step out from behind another stack of pipes.

"Vick?"

Vick is the shipping and receiving manager. He's a pretty nice guy, but, I don't really know him that well. He had a cut down the side of his face and he was holding a 4 foot piece of metal strap style banding material.

"Vick, you okay?"

He looked at me and I saw the same crazy look in his eye that I saw in Chris's.

"No man, don't," I said, raising my hands to him.

Vick launched himself across the 10 feet separating us, raising the strip of metal like it was a whip. Without thinking, I moved towards him. _Ain't no fucking way I'm gonna let him hit me with that_ I thought. As he started to bring his arm down, I ducked to the other side, grabbed his shirt and spun him off balance. He tripped and fell, smacking his head against a loose pipe. He tried to get up, but, I stepped forward and kicked him in the head.

The entire episode took less than 5 seconds. One second, he was standing there. The next, he was out cold.

"What the fuck is going on here?" I said aloud.

I turned and walked quickly towards Ricks office, not checking to see if Vick was okay.

After a few steps, I started to run. I hit the stairs leading up to his office at a dead run and almost tripped. Catching my balance, I shot up the stairs as fast as I could. I burst into Rick's office and came to a dead stop.

The destruction from the loading area was mirrored here. The desk was turned over into the middle of the floor, the computer and papers and other odds and ends that where on the top of it lying in jumbled piles near the wall. Filing cabinets where pulled open and the contents where dumped all over the place. Pictures and plaques hanging on the walls had been torn down and thrown across the room. The only thing in the room that wasn't disturbed was Rick's custom gun display case. He had had the thing build out of steel and aluminium by our shop and it weighed about 400 pounds.

As I stood there, I became aware of a noise coming from the attached bathroom. Silently, I moved towards the door. As I got closer, I stopped and picked up a wooden bat that Rick had got signed by Mark McGuire. It used to hang over the wall behind his desk, but, like everything else, it was laying on the floor, the victim of someone's extreme makeover ideas.

I tightened my grip on the bat and pushed the door open. The light was on. The door only opened half way before it hit something. I stood waiting.

"GRAKKKK!" screamed someone. The door slammed closed and someone hit the inside of the door.

I took a few steps back, waiting for who ever it was to step out. They hit the door again and the door started to splinter. The door was a cheap one, and, it would not stand up to too much punishment.

Two more hits and the door split down the center. The person on the other side spilled out through the shattered remains of the door like a bloody freak birthed from the bathroom behind them.

As the wanna be Bob Vila spilled across the floor, I backed up slightly to give myself room to swing the Louisville Slugger. It was then that I recognized the shirt that the person was wearing. A pale blue button down shirt with the "fag tag" loop of cloth on the back. The one that I ripped off last week when I looped my finger through it and pretended that I was having my way with him.

"Oh god, Rick!"

I dropped the bat and rushed to his side. I reached out and tried to help him stand up. The knife he was holding flashed out and grazed the top of my forearm. I scrambled backwards as he pushed himself up onto his knees. His head was still bowed, but, I could see red dripping from his forehead. I really didn't want him to look up at me. I was certain that if he did, I would see something that would make my soul shatter. I didn't want to see it, but, I had too.

Rick lifted his head slowly as if he was aware of my discomfort and wanted to prolong it as long a possible. As the light hit his face, I saw that the blood was coming from a nasty gash above his right eye. It might have happened when I came through the door. In my relief that he didn't have the face of a demon, I let him take two steps on his knees towards me. As he raised his knife, I snapped back to the present. I scurried back further and the knife buried itself in the carpet between my legs. If I hadn't moved, that thing would have been buried to the hilt in my nuts.

I quickly gained my feet and looked around for the bat. I saw it behind Rick.

_Shit! _I thought.

I looked around for something else. I picked up a bright orange desk calculator by the cord and started to swing it over my head like a sling. The motion of the calculator seemed to entrance him and I tried to slowly inch around him towards the bat. When I was within 3 feet of it, I started swinging it faster. Before the cord could slip out of my sweat covered hands, I lashed out with it, aiming for his head. It connected with a solid "CRACK" and split open. Not mourning the loss of my impromptu weapon, I scooped up the bat and held it at the ready.

The calculator had hit Rick in the side of his head, right above his right ear. When it shattered, the sharp plastic pieces been driven in all directions. Once piece was forced down and it chopped his ear half off. The top of his ear flopped up and down like a flip-flop dangling on a women's toe: not completely off, but, close. Rick was blinking rapidly, trying to clear blood out of his eye from the cut above his head. The new wound didn't seem to faze him at all.

"I'm sorry Rick. Really, I am..."

I swung the bat like Mark going for his 63rd homerun. I connected with the side of his head squarely. The bat made a wet thudding sound that I will never forget. Any semblance of awareness, insane or otherwise, quickly departed and he slumped to the floor in a heap.

I sat down hard, biting my tongue. As I spit the coppery blood out, I began to laugh. Or cry. I'm not sure which. Maybe a little of both.


End file.
